


#7: I've Got You

by illa_yasmar



Series: Whumptober 2020, but it's not October anymore and it's out of order [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Serious Injuries, Stranded, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27498568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illa_yasmar/pseuds/illa_yasmar
Summary: Bucky and Peter are thrown from the quinjet after they’re attacked on their way back to the compound. Stranded in the woods and gravely injured, Bucky works to get them back before Peter runs out of time.
Series: Whumptober 2020, but it's not October anymore and it's out of order [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009593
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. Tony

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all. Here's my first post on AO3. I loved the Whumptober 2020 prompts, but October was a bad month for me to write so I'm doing them now. They'll be out of order/written as inspiration comes to me, but I hope you enjoy them anyway!
> 
> So to start, here's prompt #7: "I've Got You"--Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

Tony Stark was pissed.

It was a simple mission. Surveillance upstate. A milk run, really. A few hours on a Saturday with everyone home in time for dinner. Fury, however, insisted that four people went. Nat volunteered and Tony promised Peter he would start bringing the kid on more missions so long as they were short and low-risk. Steve, however, had sustained one too many concussions that week and was banned from field duty for the rest of the month. Sam had a prior commitment at the VA and Rhodey was on a trip to D.C. God only knew where Clint was. That only left one person available at the compound.

Bucky Barnes. The Winter Fucking Soldier.

Tony had tried convincing Fury that he, Nat, and Peter would be fine on their own, but Fury was adamant. Granted, when their mission had gone sideways and they needed to shoot their way out, it was helpful to have a highly trained former assassin with them. Not that Tony was going to admit it to anyone, least of all Barnes.

Barnes, of course, was frustratingly compliant. He stayed quiet for most of the ride up, respecting Tony’s wishes that he didn’t engage with Peter and only speaking in English with Nat when the other two were around. He deferred to Tony on all decisions and followed orders without question. He was doing everything in his power to convince Tony he was on his side, that he was remorseful for killing Tony’s parents as the Winter Soldier, and that he wanted to make amends. 

The bastard.

So Tony was relieved when they all finally stumbled on to the quinjet, leaving a burning warehouse in their wake. Just a two-hour flight home and he could disappear into his lab and go back to pretending Barnes didn’t exist.

“We’re gonna want to gun it.” Natasha said as Peter buckled himself in. His suit was scratched in several places, but he wouldn’t have anything more than a few superficial cuts. “There’s a big storm coming and flying this thing’s a bitch when the weather is bad.”

Tony sat stiffly in one of the pilot’s chairs. Letting the Winter Soldier sit where Tony couldn’t see him still put Tony on edge. “Yeah, yeah, this ain’t my first rodeo.”

Nat rolled her eyes and knelt in front of Barnes, preparing to remove the bullet that had been lodged in his right shoulder. Tony had to admit it was a little satisfying to see Barnes take a (non-fatal) hit. Penance and all that.

“You’re sure it wasn’t hollow-point?” He heard Nat ask. 

“No, he wasn’t using a rifle.” Came Barnes’ reply. 

“Well it doesn’t look like it’s going to come out easy.” Nat said. “ There’s no exit wound and I think it broke into a few pieces on impact.”

As they sped over the wooded land below, the first few drops of rain dotted the windshield. They flew in silence for a while, only being interrupted by the soft clink of the first aid equipment and the occasional “sorry” from Nat as she had to dig deeper into Barnes’ shoulder.

Tony didn’t feel that bad for him.

After another forty minutes or so, Peter spoke up. “Uh, Mr. Stark?”

Tony suppressed a sigh. The kid always babbled when he was nervous and silence made him nervous. Or maybe it was the palatable tension so thick you could choke on it that existed every time Tony and Barnes were in the same room for longer than five minutes.

“Yeah?”

“How much longer do we have?” Peter asked.

“A little under an hour, why?” Tony replied.

“…Nothing. It’s probably nothing.”

Tony turned his chair, looking back at the kid. Peter’s mask was off and he was rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, frowning slightly. “No, what?”

Peter dropped his hand. “It’s fine. I think the storm is just messing with my senses.” The rain had picked up in the last few minutes. 

“I thought storms didn’t make you feel all tingly.” Tony questioned.

Nat turned, a brow raised. “What does that mean?”

“They don’t.” Peter replied, ignoring Nat. “But I’m not usually in the clouds when a storm breaks so—.” 

Whatever Peter was going to say was cut off as a blast rocked the quinjet. Peter yelped as first aid supplies went flying and Tony was thrown against the consoles. 

“What the—?”

Nat appeared next to him, strapping herself into the second pilot’s chair. “What the hell was that?” She asked, scanning the radar.

Tony tried to focus over the scream of several alarms going off at once. “One of the engines was hit.” He noted, not that he needed the screen in front of him to tell him. Out the windshield he could see thick black smoke trailing from the side of the jet, and they were definitely listing sideways as they continued to fly.

“Someone’s shooting at us from the ground.” Natasha said, hands flying over switches and buttons, trying to stabilize them.

“Who?” Tony demanded. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I don’t know, but we’ve got another one incoming. We might be able to avoid it—.” 

Tony pulled on the control column hard, trying to bank right but it was too late. Another blast jolted the jet. The walls rattled and some part of the floor groaned. 

“Shit! Kid, you alright?” Tony turned. “Kid!” 

Peter was slumped in his seat, head lolling against the wall behind him. A trail of blood was running from his temple down the side of his face. Tony tried to unbuckle himself, fumbling with the clasps, just as Natasha cried out. 

“Tony, we’ve got another one aimed for port!” Peter.

Panicked, Tony tried throwing the straps of the pilot’s seat off his shoulders, but he was tangled.

There was a click, a flash of metal, just before Tony heard the whoosh of the missile rushing up to meet them. Something moved just as a third blast hit the jet hard. 

The floor was still shaking as Tony picked himself up off the console again and turned, staring in horror.

There was a hole in the side of the jet. A hole right where Peter had been sitting. “No.” He breathed. “No, no, no.” He frantically scanned the scene. The back of the ship was completely empty.

Barnes was gone, too.

“Tony!” Nat called, bringing him back. “I need you to help me put this thing down or we’re both going to die.”

Tony turned, strapping himself back in. “The kid.” He said numbly. “The kid is gone. And Barnes. I think…I think they fell.” 

“I already sent out a distress signal.” Nat said through clenched teeth. They were spiralling now, earth and sky blending in a dizzying blur.

“They’re too far out.” Tony replied.

“Well if we survive this, then we’ll both go looking for them.” Nat’s knuckles were white on the yoke as she fought to regain control.

The trees were mere feet below them now. Tony grabbed his own control column and tried to help as he flipped a switch, deploying the reverse thrusters and trying to slow their descent.

“There’s no good place to land!” Nat shouted.

“Just do your best and brace for impact!” Tony answered. For a minute, he thought they could do it. Their speed had slowed and they were mostly successful in keeping the sky above them, but then one of the wings clipped a tree and they were jerked sideways.

Alarms screamed. Natasha yelled something. Tony saw the ground come rushing up to meet them, trees breaking as they fell. With a final metallic crunch, the jet came to a shuddering stop. Tony’s head flew forward into the console and the world went dark.


	2. Bucky

Bucky Barnes was falling. 

He was falling with an unconscious teenager in his left arm and a pack strapped to his back. He fumbled at his shoulder before finding a handle and pulling, hard.

Canvas and rope billowed out behind him. Bucky cried out as the parachute pulled taught, jolting his injured shoulder. He nearly lost the kid, scrambling to grip him in both arms as the wind buffeted them around. They were too close to the ground for the parachute to ensure a completely safe landing, but hopefully it would prevent them from hurtling into the trees at a fatal speed. 

Hopefully.

Bucky used his right arm to try and steer them, gritting his teeth against the pain the movement caused. Rain lashed at his face and he heard a crack of thunder overhead.

Below them, Bucky spotted an area where the trees at least seemed a little thinner and struggled to move them in that direction. Either way, it was going to be a rough landing. 

Just as his feet started to brush the leaves, Bucky turned Peter around so his face was against Bucky’s chest and wrapped both hands around the kid’s head and neck. 

They hit the trees.

Branches clawed and scraped at Bucky’s arms and face. He struggled to keep his eyes open and on the ground as they tumbled. Just as the branches started to get thick, Bucky hit the release latch, freeing them from the parachute. 

They dropped the last fifteen feet. Bucky’s ankle turned painfully on impact, and they rolled, Bucky tightening his grip on Peter. Finally, his back slammed into a very solid trunk and they stopped. Winded, Bucky lay there for a moment, rain falling in his face as he mentally assessed the damage. 

Bullet wound.

Sprained ankle.

Several painful scrapes.

Probably a few bruised ribs based on how painful breathing was proving to be.

Nothing fatal, and overall, it could have been much worse. Bucky then gently rolled Peter off his chest, taking care to keep his neck secure.

He stood, bracing himself against a tree. He surveyed their situation. Darkness was falling rapidly and the rain wasn’t letting up. Peter was still unconscious and Bucky wasn’t sure he could carry the kid very far in his state. They needed shelter.

A fork of lightning flashed across the sky, revealing the parachute blessedly hanging from a tree only a few yards away. It was tangled in some of the branches, but part of it hung low enough that Bucky could grab it. 

Slipping and sliding over wet leaves, Bucky made his way over. Wrapping his metal arm in the canvas, he pulled as hard as he could. Several branches cracked as they snapped off the trunk. Bucky backed out of the way as they came raining down around him. He gathered up the canvas. It was ripped in a few places, but enough of it was intact that both he and Peter could sit under it.

He found two trees close to where he’d left the kid and started twisting, cutting, and maneuvering the canvas and rope until he had a makeshift tent. It was small, but it would keep the rain and wind mostly off of them. 

Bucky was panting. His ankle throbbed and the bullet wound in his shoulder was sending searing waves of white-hot pain down his arm. Natasha hadn’t had time to get all the pieces out, and blood seeped through his jacket and down his side. 

Grunting with effort, he tried to pick Peter up with one arm and limp his way back to the tent. Just as he was pulling Peter in, the kid stirred, mumbling slightly. Bucky shifted around so he was in front of Peter and the kid could see him as he came to. “Hey, kid, how you feeling?”

Peter shot upright, limbs flailing. “What? Wher—?”

Bucky put out a hand. “Whoa. Take it easy. You hit your head pretty hard. You might be concussed.” 

As if on command, Peter gripped his head, groaning. “What happened?”

“We were shot down.” Bucky replied grimly. “You and I were blown out the side, but Nat and Stark went down with the jet.”

“What? Mr. Stark—.” Peter tried to scramble up again, but fell back, clutching his side.

“We can’t help them right now.” Buck said. “It’s storming, it’s dark, and I don’t even know where the jet landed. Plus someone on the ground shot us down. We can’t go crashing through the woods and alerting them to our location. But Nat would have sent out a distress call before they went down so the others back at the compound know we’re in trouble. Did Stark put a tracker in your suit?”

“Yeah.” Peter panted, Face contorted in pain. “But I think the suit’s damaged. Karen?” He waited, but no reply came through. “I’m offline.” 

“Okay, well right now we need to worry about ourselves. Are you hurt?” Night had fallen in full. Bucky had tried to look Peter over as he moved him, but the cloudy sky and whipping rain made it nearly impossible to see more than a few inches in front of his face.

“Well, my head hurts.” Peter replied. “And I think…I think I’m cut pretty bad, but I can’t really tell.” Suddenly, he scrambled at the front of his suit.

“What?” Bucky asked, panicked. “What is it?”

But Peter merely pressed the spider emblem on his chest and the makeshift tent was illuminated with a soft, almost iridescent blue light coming from the spider emblem itself and the individual lines that made up the web across his chest.

“Alright, so some features still work.” Peter breathed, leaning back heavily.

Bucky allowed himself a momentary feeling of relief before he looked down at Peter’s side. “Oh.”

A large tear in Peter’s suit revealed a long gash stretching around most of his side. It oozed blood down his hip and dripped onto the leaves beneath him. Peter blinked down at it.

“Don’t worry.” He mumbled. “I’ve got super healing.”

“That’s pretty bad. Even for someone enhanced like you.” Bucky unzipped his jacket and started removing his tactical gear.

“What’re you doing?” Peter asked. His voice was growing quieter and Bucky didn’t know if it was from shock or blood loss.

“We gotta put some pressure on that.” Luckily, it was early March which meant it was still cold enough to dress in layers. Once Bucky had removed all of his weapons, he pulled his long-sleeved shirt off over his head. Using one of his knives, he cut the bottom half of the shirt off, folding it several times. “Sorry about this.” He grimaced as he pressed the makeshift bandage into Peter’s bleeding side.

Peter hissed in pain, but placed his hands over the shirt, holding it in place. Bucky then used the top half of the shirt with the sleeves to wrap Peter’s side and hold the bandage in place.

“It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.” Bucky said apologetically.

“Thanks.” Peter replied, voice barely more than a whisper.

Bucky zipped his jacket back up over his t-shirt. He did a weapons check. He’d lost one of his guns in the fall, but he still had a pistol with a few rounds of ammo.

“You should sleep.” He said as he checked the magazine in his gun by the light of Peter’s suit. “It’s too wet to light a fire, and we wouldn’t want to give our position away, but the leaves might provide some insulation.”

“Okay.” Peter muttered, already losing his grip on consciousness. He fumbled with the front of his suit again and the light went out, throwing them back into darkness.

Bucky tried to push most of the leaves around Peter to the edge of the tent for him, preventing the wind from getting through the cracks. When he’d done the best he could, he settled in with his back against the trunks of one of the trees, keeping one eye on the woods around them, gun resting on his knee. The storm continued to rage around them.

It was going to be a long night.


	3. Peter

Peter Parker was miserable.

He had let sleep overtake him with ease at first, but he’d woken when a particularly loud boom of thunder had shaken the very ground beneath him. After that, the rain thundering against the canvas, the wind whipping at the leaves around him, the extreme ache in his head and side had all made it impossible to sleep.

Plus there was the fact that he was sitting not two feet from the Winter Soldier.

He knew the Winter Soldier was on their side now, that he wasn’t working with Hydra anymore. He even lived at the compound, but Peter had never spent any real time with him. This was the first mission they’d ever done together, and aside from tonight, the only time they’d ever spoken was at the airport in Germany. When they were fighting each other.

But he’d saved Peter. In fact, Peter wondered if he’d even be alive if the Winter Soldier hadn’t essentially jumped out of the quinjet after him. Still, it didn’t make Peter feel any less on edge as he tried to fall back asleep.

And Peter did try. He was  _ tired _ .

The pain in his side was incredible. Where his head was a dull ache that thudded against his skull, his side was throbbing, every breath painful against the torn t-shirt trying to staunch the flow of blood. Peter hoped his healing would take care of it quickly. He didn’t like the idea of being stranded in the woods with a defunct suit  _ and _ a life-threatening injury.

He tossed and turned.

Eventually, though, he must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, the Winter Soldier was saying a quiet “Hey kid” and Peter opened his eyes to see the faint gray light of dawn. He sat up slowly. 

“How do you feel?” The Soldier asked.

“Like I got hit by a train.” Peter replied. He paused, noticing the other man was in only a t-shirt. Looking down, he saw a thick leather jacket still wrapped around his front. 

“You were shivering last night.” The Winter Soldier offered. 

Peter handed the jacket back, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Your shoulder.” He said, looking for anything to change the subject. The right sleeve of the Soldier’s t-shirt was stained a deep red, and dried blood caked the inside of his arm.

“It’s not that bad.” The Soldier replied, shrugging his jacket back on. Peter had a feeling he was lying, but he didn’t press it. “I think I know where we are, or at least, how far we are from the compound.”

“Really?” Peter asked as the two of them climbed out of the tent.

The storm had blown over, leaving only a light drizzle in its wake. Now that it was light, Peter could see they were well and truly in the middle of nowhere. Trees and undergrowth stretched as far as he could see all around them. He heard nothing but the sound of birds and the faint drip of rainwater falling from branches overhead.

His breath clouded before him as he sat heavily against the trunk of a tree. The Soldier turned to him. 

“I need to check your side.” He knelt in front of Peter, but paused, hands hovering over the knotted shirt. “Can I?” He asked, looking up at Peter for confirmation. Peter nodded and gritted his teeth as the other man pulled on the fabric.

It quickly became clear that Peter’s enhanced healing had  _ not _ taken care of the wound. While the bleeding had stopped, the skin around it was an angry red color, inflamed veins crawling across his chest and stomach.

The Soldier frowned at it for a moment. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry.” Peter said with a nervous smile. “I’ve had my tetanus shot.”

The Soldier threw away the soiled fabric and folded the sleeves he’d used to tie the cloth last night into a new pad. He used a length of leftover rope from the parachute to tie it in place. His brows pinched in worry. “I don’t know if I should move you.”

“No, don’t worry. I’ll be okay.” Peter stood, trying not to show how heavily he relied on the tree to stay upright. “How far do you think we are from the compound?”

“Twenty five miles.” He said. “Eight hours of walking.”

Peter tried not to balk at that thought. After all, it was literally either try and walk or stay and hope the other Avengers found them before whoever shot them down did. “Right, well.” He swallowed. “Lead the way.”

The Soldier hesitated. “Are you sure you’re up for this? You could stay here with a weapon, make sure you’re hidden, and I can go on ahead to get help.”

Peter shook his head. “No, no.” He pushed himself off the tree. “We should stick together. I’ll be alright, really.”

The Soldier looked skeptical, but then he glanced at the woods around them, as if acknowledging that the longer they stood there, the more exposed they were. He nodded once. “Okay. But we’ll take breaks, and you tell me if it gets worse.”

“I will.” Peter lied.

The Soldier took out his pistol, giving the trees around them one more sweep. “Alright, this way.” 

They walked for an hour. It was slow-going. The ground pitched and curved, and there was no clear path among the twisted shrubs and roots. The sun crested the horizon and the drizzle waned down to a light mist as they stumbled their way through the wilderness. Peter was acutely aware of the fact that he was making three times as much noise as the Soldier, but there seemed to be a delay between his brain and his legs. Every rock, branch, and root seemed to jump off the ground in an effort to trip him.

When Peter fell over an exposed root and took more than a few seconds to get back up, the Soldier turned back to him. “Let’s take a break.” He suggested.

Peter gratefully leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, panting heavily. As he did, the Soldier took a few steps back around to his front. He checked the area around him, but Peter noticed he never moved more than a few feet one way or the other. After a minute, he realized the Soldier was making sure to stay in Peter’s line of vision, never moving to a position where Peter couldn’t see where he was.

“Mr. Soldier?” He asked after catching his breath.

A pained look crossed the other man’s face. “You can call me Bucky.”

“Mm.” Peter replied, knowing he would do no such thing. “Why doesn’t Mr. Stark trust you?”

The Soldier stilled. His gaze seemed to move beyond the trees, into something more distant. “I don’t think it’s my place to say.” He said carefully.

“Oh come on.” Peter scoffed. “It’s not like I’ll  _ tell  _ him what you said.”

“It’s not that. The situation is…sensitive, difficult. I wouldn’t want to say anything unless Stark was okay with it.” The Soldier said quietly. “But he’s right to be angry.”

“But those things you did when you were the Soldier, that wasn’t really you. You didn’t have a choice.” Peter replied.

The Soldier gave him a rueful smile. “You sound like Steve.” His expression dropped and he looked…tired. “It’s complicated.”

Normally, Peter would have been annoyed at that response. But this seemed less of a “you’re too young to understand” complicated and more of a “it physically pains me to talk about this” complicated, so he let it go.

Peter was about to say he was ready to start moving again when the Soldier stiffened. Only through Peter’s enhanced hearing did he hear the faint snap of a twig before the Soldier threw himself forward on top of Peter as a hailstorm of bullets ripped through the trees.

Wood splintered around them. Peter was positioned so that one side was pressed up against a fallen tree while the other was blocked by the Soldier, who used an arm to cover Peter’s head. He couldn’t see what was happening or where the attack was coming from. 

He felt the Soldier reach behind him to pull out his pistol. They waited, hardly daring to breathe as the woods exploded around them. Finally, the bullets ceased, and Peter could hear the distant sounds of clips being reloaded.

Seizing the opportunity, the Soldier raised his head briefly before sitting up and firing off two quick shots. A second later, Peter heard two thuds. There was a quick moment when someone shouted something in a language Peter couldn’t understand before the Soldier fired a third time and a third body hit the ground. They stayed there for a moment longer, until the Soldier finally backed away a few steps, allowing Peter to roll onto his back.

“Are you okay?”

Peter’s ears were ringing slightly, and his head was screaming in protest and having been shaken so violently when he was thrown to the ground, but otherwise he was unharmed. He gave a weak thumbs up. “Never better.” He accepted the Soldier’s hand and clambered to his feet. “Who were those guys?”

“Hydra.” The Soldier said darkly. “They were alone, but I’m sure there are other search parties out there.” He turned Peter. “Here, stay here. I’ll be right back.” He walked over to two of the fallen agents and searched them, still ensuring Peter could see everything he was doing.

He returned with two extra pistols. He offered one to Peter, who shook his head. 

“We need to get going.” The Soldier said, disappearing the weapons into his tactical suit. “Are you good to move?”

Peter set his jaw and nodded and fell into step behind him as the Soldier led their way farther into the woods.


	4. Tony

Tony Stark was having a high speed come apart.

He had awoken ten minutes early to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and an itchiness in the inside of his arm that he quickly attributed to an IV.

An IV which he promptly tried to rip out as he half stumbled, half fell out of his bed. A whole host of people burst into the room, including a very angry Bruce Banner who all but strapped Tony to the bed and threatened to lock the door on his way out.

“The kid.” Tony said, still scrabbling at the arms of the nurses who were forcing him to lie down. “What happened to the kid? He fell and I couldn’t—.”

“Tony.” Bruce said sternly. “You need to calm down.”

When Tony finally fell back against his pillow, still glowering at Bruce, Bruce sighed. “You have a severe concussion. You fractured a wrist and had multiple lacerations all over your body. Considering both the amount of damage you guys took in the air and how the jet looked upon landing, it’s a miracle you’re even alive, so I need you not to make it any worse right now.”

“Where’s the kid?” Tony asked.

Bruce hesitated. “We don’t know.”

“That’s not keeping me very  _ calm _ , Bruce.” Tony said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to try and fight his way out of the room again. The heart rate monitor picked up in speed.

“We found you and Natasha quickly.” Bruce continued. “You actually crashed only a few miles from the compound. But it was storming hard and you and Nat were both banged up pretty bad, so our priority was getting you two back here.”

“Well I’m here. So let’s get going.”

“Sam is already out flying over the area near the crash site.” Bruce said, putting an arm out to block Tony from trying to get up again. “He left as soon as it stopped storming.”

Tony paused. “What do you mean? How long has it been since we went down?”

Again, Bruce seemed reluctant to answer. “We brought you in twelve hours ago.”

“ _ Twelve hours? _ ” This time Tony really did fight Bruce to get up. “We have to find the kid  _ now _ . He was hurt. He hit his head—.”

“I know.” Bruce said, actually bodily shoving Tony back down. “Nat’s worried, too. She said Barnes took a hit on your mission but she didn’t have enough time to stitch him up.” 

_ Barnes, right _ . Tony thought.  _ They went down together _ . “Any word from Wilson?” 

“He’s giving us updates every thirty minutes but,” Bruce grimaced. “So far, nothing. It turns out a master ex-assassin with decades of stealth training is really good at hiding. Steve is calling all the law enforcement in the area. Rhodey won’t be back until tomorrow, but he said he would work from D.C. and try to find out who shot you down.”

“Barnes and Peter,” Tony said, rubbing his forehead. The splitting pain behind his right eye seemed to confirm Bruce’s theory that he was concussed. “They fell together. They would have landed a few miles away from where the jet did. We have to let Wilson know—.”

“We already did.” Bruce said soothingly. “Nat told him what she could remember.”

“Nat’s awake?”

Bruce nodded. “She came to a few hours ago.”

“Has she checked the tracker in Peter’s suit?"

Bruce shook his head apologetically. “His suit’s offline.”

Tony’s heart skipped several beats. He dropped his head into his hands. “God, Bruce. I don’t even know if they could have  _ survived _ that fall. And even if they did, what kind of condition would they be in?”

“They’re in good enough shape to be mobile.”

Tony looked up. As if summoned, Nat was standing in the doorway. Aside from a nasty black eye, one arm in a sling, and a crutch supporting her weight, she seemed to have survived fairly well.

“What does that mean?” Bruce asked.

“Just got an update from Wilson. He found a makeshift tent made from a Stark-issued parachute a few miles north of where we crashed.” Nat replied.

“A parachute.” Tony repeated.

“Must have been Barnes.” Nat adjusted her crutch. “But that’s not all. There was quite a bit of blood on the ground, and a discarded bloody rag. It looked like it had been cut from a shirt.”

Tony paled. “Whose blood?”

Nat shook her head. “No way to tell. Wilson sent the fabric back with one of his drones and we’re going to analyze it. He said it looked like Barnes’ shirt, but there’s no way of telling which one of them was hurt.”

Tony felt only a little guilty that he hoped it was Barnes that was bleeding. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive himself if something happened to the kid.

“This is good news, Tony.” Bruce said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It means they’re alive and they’re probably trying to get back right now.”

“And as much as you hate the guy,” Nat added. “There’s probably no one better to be stuck in the woods with when you have limited resources and you’re being hunted by unknown assailants than Barnes. He’ll get them here.”

_ Unless he’s the one who's injured.  _ No one in the room seemed to want to admit this out loud.

“I need to be out there.” Tony swung his feet over to rest on the ground. “Let me get my suit and I’ll—.”

“Absolutely not.” Bruce said at the same time Nat snapped, “Don’t even think about it.”

“It’s just a search and rescue.” Tony protested. “I’ll be fine.”

“We still don’t know who shot us down.” Nat replied. “And they’re still out there. Suit or not, you’re in no condition to get back out there.”

Tony wanted to scream in frustration. “Then at least let me get to my lab. I want to see if I can reactivate Peter’s suit from here.” 

Bruce and Nat exchanged a look before Bruce finally nodded, stepping out of the way to let Tony pass. Tony grabbed his phone and stumbled out of his bed, ignoring the way the room spun around him and refusing Bruce’s helping hand. 

He was working the second he stepped foot in the hallway. “Friday?”

“Yes, boss?” 

“Get me the last location from Peter’s suit before it went offline and see if you can get the schematics. Also, give me a topographical outlay of the surrounding thirty miles. I want updates from Cap on what local law enforcement has been doing. Make sure we’re tapped into Wilson’s comms and,” Tony sighed heavily as he reached the door to his lab. “Get May Parker on the phone. Tell her Peter is missing, but we’re going to get him back.” He said with a lot more confidence than he felt.

Tony checked the clock as he settled behind his desk. 9:30 a.m. He’d already wasted too much time being unconscious. He needed a strategy. Friday had just delivered the topographical scan of the land surrounding the compound and Tony was about to start picking through it when Nat appeared once again.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, taking in her grim expression.

“Wilson called in again. He found three bodies. Hydra agents, based on their gear.”

“All dead?” Tony asked.

Natasha nodded. “All shot between the eyes.” She gave him a significant look. “They’re still alive and they’re still moving.”

“At least Barnes is.”

“He wouldn’t leave the kid behind.” Nat said firmly. “Besides, this gives us something to work with. We know who shot us down.”

“But what’s Hydra doing in the middle of the woods in upstate New York?” Tony asked.

“Maybe they were looking for Barnes.”

Tony shook his head. “How would they have known he was on the ship? He keeps the lowest profile in human existence. He wasn’t even supposed to be on the mission; he was a last-minute stand-in.” He drummed his fingers against his desk. “Alright, I’ll look into it and pull Hill and Coulson in. You let me know the  _ second _ Wilson has a new update.”

Nat nodded and turned, leaving Tony to his work. 

Tony rubbed a hand across his still-aching head. “Friday, when you’ve done everything else on the list, find some coffee for me in this place. And get ready to pull some overtime. We don’t stop until the kid comes home.”


	5. Peter

Peter Parker could not feel his legs. 

They had been walking for hours. He knew he was making way too much noise, and that it was probably making Sergeant Barnes nervous—he’d settled for calling him Sergeant Barnes since technically he  _ wasn’t _ the Soldier anymore—but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

His feet dragged. Twigs and branches pulled at his suit. He wished he had his mask—he’d lost it in the fall—if only to stop the trees from scratching at his face. His headache had moved to the back of his skull, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his side. Each breath felt like someone was poking him with a hot iron. Each step caused the blood-soaked t-shirt to rub against the wound and Peter had to grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out. 

He was also starting to feel clammy. The day was cold; he could tell by the white clouds that appeared with his and Sergeant Barnes’ breaths, but his hair was damp and sticking at the back of his neck. His suit felt too warm and constricting.

“Over here.” 

It took Peter a moment to realize Sergeant Barnes had spoken and was waiting for Peter to follow. Slowly, he clambered over a fallen tree and trailed behind the Sergeant until he could hear the faint bubbling of running water.

Sergeant Barnes stopped beside a creek. “This is either the stream that runs through the compound, or it feeds into that stream. We just need to follow it and we’ll be home free.”

“That’s great.” Peter said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Only when it came out of his mouth, he realized he was slurring.

The Sergeant turned to him, brows pinched. “Why don’t you sit down. We can rest for a minute.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice. He sat down where he stood, feet in the water. He leaned forward and cupped his hands, catching some of the stream up to take a drink.

The Sergeant waded over to where he sat. “Is it okay if I check your side again?”

Peter nodded, leaning back on his elbows. Gingerly, the Sergeant undid the rope holding the bandage to Peter’s side, offering a quiet “sorry” when Peter hissed in pain.

It was not looking good.

Peter’s entire left side of his stomach and back were covered in angry red veins. The actual wound, while not bleeding again, was seeping and the skin around it was puffy and inflamed. Peter saw the Sergeant work a muscle in his jaw as he refolded the bandage, trying to find the cleanest side, and retied it against the wound.

“I think you should stay here.”

“No.” Peter shook his head, but immediately wished he hadn’t. His head throbbed and the trees around him spun. “I can keep going.”

“If you keep going, you could make that a lot worse.” Sergeant Barnes protested, indicating to Peter’s side.

“If I stay here, more Hydra agents could find me.” Peter shot back. “It’s better if we stick together. Besides, like you said, we’re almost there.”

“Almost as in two more hours of walking.”

Peter nearly threw up at the thought of it, but he shook his head again. “We both keep going.”

The Sergeant clenched his jaw, but stood, water rushing around his ankles. “Okay.”

Peter braced himself, then stood. Instantly his knees threatened to give as black crept into the edges of his vision. He swayed.

“Whoa, hey.” Sergeant Barnes grabbed him by the elbows. 

“Sorry.” Peter mumbled. “Just stood up too fast.”

The Sergeant released him, but hovered. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

_ No _ . Peter thought. “I’m sure. Let’s get going.” He went to take a step, but the Sergeant held out a hand.

“Can I at least help you?”

Peter was tempted to refuse, determined to prove he was fine no matter how he felt, but if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely convinced he could go another two hours on his own two feet. He nodded.

The Sergeant carefully draped Peter’s right arm over his shoulder. Peter noted he winced as he did and suspected the Sergeant’s bullet-riddled shoulder was still a problem. With a surprisingly gentle grip from his metal arm, the Sergeant grasped Peter’s ribs, taking care to avoid the wound. They set off through the stream.

Peter felt better having some of his weight transferred, but he still felt shaky, clammy. His eyes were starting to droop.

“Hey, Peter, I need you to stay awake.” The Sergeant said, noting Peter’s struggle.

Peter blinked stupidly. For some reason all he could think was that this was the first time the Sergeant had used his name. “Sorry, I’ll try.”

“Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?”

“Call Ned. Oh,  _ Ned _ .” Peter groaned. “He’s gonna be so mad at me. We were supposed to build the Lego Millennium Falcon today.”

“I think he’ll understand.” Sergeant Barnes replied, readjusting his grip.

“We’ve been planning this for  _ weeks _ . We were supposed to go to the store and get it and then take it back to my place and watch the Empire Strikes Back while we built it.” 

“You’re big Star Wars fans, huh?” The Sergeant asked, guiding Peter around a boulder.

“Yeah. Wait, you know what that is?”

The Sergeant gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, I do. Contrary to popular belief, I am pretty up to date with pop culture and current events. Steve may have been asleep for seventy years, but I wasn’t. So which movie is your favorite?”

They trudged on. Peter had to hand it to the Sergeant. He kept Peter talking. He asked a lot of questions about Star Wars and how Peter and Ned became fans. That led to how Peter and Ned met, and then onto how Ned found out Peter was Spiderman, and on and on. A small part of Peter wondered if he was perhaps  _ oversharing _ , especially considering just yesterday he still viewed the Sergeant as the Winter Soldier and was intimidated by him every time he walked in the room. But in the end, Peter was too tired to care. For now, he just kept moving. He seemed to slip into a trance, the hours melting away, his body methodically picking up one foot and splashing it in front of the other. The only passage of time he noted was the sun creeping higher into the sky behind a thin layer of clouds that blanketed the sky.

Eventually, though, he was pulled back as his side was becoming more and more jostled with each step. He finally realized it was because the Sergeant was now heavily favoring his left leg when he walked.

“You’re limping.” Peter said bluntly.

“Yeah, sorry.” The Sergeant replied through clenched teeth, his face contorted with pain.

“No, I meant…we can stop.” Peter’s brain was struggling to keep hold of the words he was thinking.

The Sergeant slowed. “Okay.” He said, breathing heavily. “We’re going to take a few minutes. But only a few.” 

Peter wanted to argue that a few hours sounded like a better idea, but he saw the Sergeant stiffen.  _ Not again. _ Peter thought as the Sergeant whipped his head around.

His sharp eyes scanned the trees around them. “Stay here.” He quietly instructed Peter.Peter watched him crouch low and creep to the right bank of the stream, peering through the woods. 

Black spots continued to appear at the edge of Peter’s vision. He blinked a few times, but they only grew. Now that they had stopped moving, exhaustion crashed over Peter like a tsunami. He no longer felt the pain in his side. He didn’t feel anything. But the trees were getting harder and harder to keep in focus. Distantly, Peter thought he should sit down, but then he realized he forgot how.

He looked up to see Sergeant Barnes making his way back over, still glancing at the trees behind him. “Alright, I’m pretty sure it was just a deer. We should keep mov—.”

“Sergeant Barnes.” Peter slurred. But whatever he was about to say next was cut short as Peter’s knees buckled and the darkness swallowed him.


	6. Bucky

Bucky Barnes was struggling.

He had heard the kid’s quiet “Sergeant Barnes.” He’d turned in time to see the Peter drop like a stone with a splash into the stream.

He’d rushed over, dropped to his knees. “Peter? Come on kid, I need you to wake up.” He’d checked the kid’s pulse. Fast, erratic. And though water flowed around the kid’s head, Bucky was sure his face would have been soaked with sweat anyway. He was burning up.

That was how Bucky ended up carrying Peter in a fireman’s hold through an ice-cold stream in the middle of the woods. And he was  _ feeling it _ . 

He knew they were close. He knew they only had a few more miles to go, but his shoulder screamed in protest at having to carry Peter’s weight. His cracked ribs sent a surge of pain rocketing around his chest every time he took a breath, and he was sure that if he didn’t stop walking soon, the damage to his ankle was going to be permanent, serum or no.

They were being too obvious, he knew. His instincts were firing off all sorts of internal alarms. Hydra agents were still after them and sticking to the stream left them exposed, predictable. Peter’s red and blue suit was practically a neon sign amongst the brown and gray of the barren trees around them. Though the water provided some noise cover, it was essentially cancelled out by the splashing Bucky made as he slowly but surely moved forward.

He staggered through the water. Normally, Peter’s weight would have been nothing to him, but he hadn’t slept in nearly thirty hours and his bruised and bleeding body was feeling his lack of any food or water since yesterday. Though his tactical boots were waterproof, his walking caused water to splash up on his legs and run down his ankles. His feet had gone numb from the cold an hour ago.

But the kid was running out of time. He hadn’t even stirred when Bucky hauled him over his shoulder, no doubt making his injury worse. And every few minutes, Bucky would ask “You with me, Peter?” Only to be met with silence.

Bucky was not about to let this kid die. Not only was he certain that Tony Stark would actually murder him in cold blood, but this kid,  _ this kid _ reminded him so much of Steve. Aside from Germany, he’d never spoken to Peter before these last two days. He’d seen him around the compound, of course, but out of respect for Stark’s wishes, he’d never actually spent significant time with the kid. More often than not, he would leave the room if Peter entered.

But yesterday, on the mission he’d been drafted to—a last minute decision that Stark was visibly furious with—Bucky had seen Peter in action, and  _ God _ the similarities were almost painful. Wholeheartedly throwing himself into the action, trying to fight three armed men at once, shivering in the cold last night like Steve used to when he was small and sickly, and even today, refusing to stay down when he probably should have. And the way he had talked about Bucky’s time as the Winter Soldier…  _ “That wasn’t really you. You didn’t have a choice.” _ Peter didn’t even know him, but choosing to see the best in Bucky anyway, it’s exactly what Steve would have done. 

So no, this kid was not going to die.

Bucky was stumbling, dragging his feet, but dammit, even if it killed him he was getting Peter back to the compound. 

They came to a bend in the creek. Bucky looked up and nearly cried out in relief. He had stopped believing in God a long time ago, but all of his Catholic upbringing came flooding back as Bucky spotted the white domed roof of the compound’s main building in the distance, maybe a mile and a half away. They were almost home.

He took a step, but his leg quaked, forcing him to one knee. 

“No, come on.” He grunted, forcing himself to stand back up. He was not about to give in to his exhaustion. Not now. He took a step, then another. With each foot forward, Bucky had to pause, breathing hard and forcing the trees around him to stop spinning. 

He had only made it a few feet before he heard something  _ whooshing _ overhead. Instantly, he moved to the bank of the stream and flipped Peter off his back as gently as he could, laying him in the leaves.  _ Not now, _ he thought.  _ Please, we’re so fucking close. _

Bucky turned, trying to shield Peter and pulling out his pistol. He was just about to raise the gun to the sky when something dropped in front of him.

No, some _ one _ . 

“ _ Wilson? _ ”

“I’m sending you their coordinates now.” Sam said, finger to the comm in his ear. “Barnes. Oh man am I glad to see you. The medical team’s on their way and Cho is prepping the med bay. We’re gonna get you guys patched up—.”

“You’ve got to take the kid.” Bucky interrupted. 

“Yeah, man, we’re gonna take both of you. They’re bringing a truck out—.”

“No,” Bucky cut in again, more insistent. “You’ve got to take him right now. He can’t wait. Take him and fly back to the compound.” 

“Barnes—.”

“Wilson, he is running out of time.” Bucky stepped back to reveal Peter’s limp form, all color drained from the kid’s face. “You need to take him  _ now _ .”

“Jesus, what…” Sam strode over, gently picking Peter up in his arms. 

“There’s a cut on his side.” Barnes explained. “It’s infected. It’s bad. I don’t…I don’t know how much longer—.”

“Okay, hey.” Sam cut in before Bucky could get too worked up. “I’m gonna take him. But there’s a service road to the West.” He indicated through the trees with his head. “Go straight a couple hundred yards that way and they’ll find you.”

Bucky waved him off. “Just  _ hurry _ .”

Sam gave him one last grim look before he nodded once and took off, Peter clutched to his chest. The minute he was gone, Bucky sagged. He knew he should start walking toward the service road, but now that he had stopped moving, now that the kid was safe, he wanted nothing more than to lie down in the stream and let the water flow over his aching body, lulling him to sleep. Even if Hydra was still in the area, he was close enough to the compound that he was sure the others would find him first.

He stared down at the water, noticing faint wisps of red running out from where he stood. Frowning, he realized his shoulder, which had tentatively scabbed over while he’d been walking, had torn open again when he set Peter down. Bucky tried to clench his right fist, but only succeeded in twitching some of his fingers.

Right, so maybe he should try to find the medical team.

Numbly, Bucky turned and splashed onto the bank of the stream. He slipped and struggled up until the ground evened out, panting as he leaned against a tree. He bit back a wave of nausea as his ribs sent another burst of pain wracking through his body.

Just a few hundred yards. That’s what Sam had said. A few hundred yards and he could stop.

But his body was stopping now. He crashed through the brush. His head swam. Everything was out of focus. His breathing was becoming hitched, and there was a definite wheeze that rattled his lungs every time he breathed too deeply.

Finally, his legs had had enough. He fell to his knees, not bothering to try and get back up.  _ This is fine _ . He thought to himself.  _ The kid is safe. The others are on their way. I’ll just wait here.  _ Only now Bucky was sure he was hallucinating because he looked up to see Steve Rogers sprinting toward him.

“Bucky!”

“Steve?”

Steve hurtled a fallen tree before skidding to a stop in front of him. “Bucky, hey. Oh man,” he gripped Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. “We were so worried.”

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled. He waved his arm vaguely around him at the woods. “Shitty cell service.”

“Where’s Peter?”

“Sam took him.” Bucky wheezed, blinking furiously to keep Steve in focus. “He’s in bad shape, he couldn’t wait.” He suddenly clutched Steve’s arm with an iron grip. “Stark and Romanov, they went down with the jet. Hydra shot us down and they’re out here. What—.”

“They’re okay.” Steve answered, taking Bucky’s arms and trying to calm him. “We found them last night. They’re back at the compound and they’re going to be fine.”

“Oh, okay good.” He slurred as he relaxed. “That’s good.” 

“Hey, hey Buck.” Steve grabbed him as he started to slump forward. “Buck I need you to stay with me for just a little bit longer. Hold on.”

But it was getting difficult to keep his eyes open. The others were safe. They were going to be fine. Bucky couldn’t see why he couldn’t just take a quick nap right there…

“Buck, come on. Just a little longer.” 

Bucky saw figures moving in the trees, a whole team of people carrying bags, a stretcher. One woman was already putting a stethoscope to her ears as she approached.

“I’m okay, really.” Bucky tried to say, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was. His mouth seemed to have stopped working. “I just need to sleep.”

And as Steve ripped Bucky’s jacket open and the cool metal disk slid over his heart, Bucky allowed himself to slip into the void.


	7. Epilogue

The box rattled in Bucky’s hands. 

It was hard to maneuver down the hall while carrying it and using crutches, but he managed. If he was lucky, he would only need the boot and crutches for a few days before the serum took care of the rest.

Bucky had only been bed-ridden for a day, thank God. He hated hospitals, hated anything that involved medical equipment beyond a basic first-aid kit. Every time he awoke in the med bay, he had to resist the wave of panic that told him he was back in a Hydra facility, back in the chair, back under Zemo’s knife.

But this time, like all the previous other times Bucky had awoken in the med bay since moving to the compound, Steve was there when he eventually came to. He cursed Bucky up and down for making him worry that much, then insisted Bucky stay an extra two days. But Bucky was feeling better. He wasn’t lying when he said what he needed most was sleep. His ankle had been set, the bullet removed from his shoulder, his ribs wrapped, and after passing a preliminary mental check for any concussion, he was free to go.

Now, as he limped his way down the hall, he wondered if he was making a mistake. He paused outside the room he’d been searching for, suddenly self-conscious. Maybe he could have Steve do it for him…

Before Bucky could turn to go, however, Tony Stark appeared in the doorway of Peter’s room. Bucky had to resist the urge to take several steps back. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to drop this off.” Bucky looked over Tony’s shoulder to see Peter sleeping peacefully in his hospital bed, May watching him from an armchair that had been pulled up. “I wasn’t planning on staying.” Bucky handed the box over to Tony, who stared down at it in his hands. 

The Lego Millennium Falcon kit.

“I had Wilson pick it up. Peter said he and his friend Ned were going to build it the other day.” Bucky explained sheepishly. “I know he can’t go home yet, but I thought maybe if Ned visited they could work on it here.”

Tony stared down at the kit as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. He was silent for so long that Bucky adjusted his crutches, turning to go, but Tony finally looked up at him.

“Thank you…for bringing the kid back.” He said slowly. “I know he wouldn’t have made it without you and if you hadn’t told Wilson to take him on ahead.” 

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that so he chose to focus on the tiled floor beneath his feet. “Did they ever find out what Hydra was doing around here?” He asked.

Tony shook his head. “We figured they just wanted the equipment. If they shot down the quinjet, they could take the schematics and make their own. But Vision and Rhodey did a sweep last night and couldn’t find anything. They’ll do another sweep with Wilson today just to be sure, but it looks like Hydra’s evacuated the area.”

“Oh, good.” Bucky dipped his head, unsure what else to say.

Finally, Tony waved the box. “I’ll tell the kid you stopped by. And Barnes,”

Bucky had nodded and turned to go, but he hesitated at his name.

“Get some rest. You look like shit.”

Without waiting for a response, Tony disappeared back into Peter’s room, closing the door behind him. Bucky paused before continuing on his way. Maybe it wasn’t a truce, but it was progress. And he could work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed this quick little fic! I've wanted to write something with Peter and Bucky for a while, so I thought I'd try it here. I know not a lot happened in this particular story, but I'm just getting started!
> 
> I am eternally grateful for everyone who has given kudos/left comments, and wish you all nothing but the best!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make the world go round. I appreciate any love you have to give!


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